Levity
by avi-chuka x
Summary: Shuichi and Yuki try to enjoy some semblance of peace, but has the novelist's rocky past truly been put to rest? And why is Shu keeping secrets?
1. Special Edition

**-Levity-**

Author's Notes: Hey! Okay, I've got the bug now, so I'm gonna try and ride this desire to pump out fanfiction for as long as it lasts! Number one, I have no idea where I'm going with this story, so I apologize if any concrete plot development eludes you all for a while. I'll try to mold it as I go. Number two, a big THANK YOU to all of those who took the time to read, and review my first fic. You were all very kind. Don't be afraid to criticize me though! I want the full fanfic writer experience, and that includes flames!

This actually picks up right after my first fic, 'Work Space' but there was no actual plot in that one, so you can either read it or not, as you choose.

Okay, I think that's all I have to say. Here we go then...

Setting: Post manga. For those of you following the genzo tracks, kindly disregard those for the sake of my story, or just consider this AU. Thanks.

Rated: M, for language, and eventual adult situations. I'd like to try my hand at those er...'lemons' I believe they're called? -bats eyelashes innocently-

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

Pairings: Shu/Yuki; Hiro/Ayaka; Suguru?; Ryuichi?

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**Chapter One**

**- Special Edition - **

"What are we gonna do today, Yuki?" I ask, taking another precarious bite of my strawberry crunch bar, careful to keep the chilled vanilla from hitting my teeth. He doesn't answer, because he's found the channel he was looking for. I recognize the decrepit old broadcaster behind the plain desk, and bland white checked back drop, as well as the words scrolling down the left corner with late breaking news.

I don't recognize the older, slightly frumpy gentleman sitting beside the broadcaster, though. I'm not really paying attention, but I am able to divine that Yuki, as well as the two or three dozen completely boring citizens of Japan that care, have tuned in to witness an interview of the novelist Uruha Kato Sensei. In the seconds that pass as the interview begins I notice several things. One, the man asking the questions has copious amounts of hair growing out of his ears, and speaks veeeeerrrry, veeeeerrrryy, slowly, interjecting the word 'ano' here and there to fill up the unnecessary silence. Two, the man answering the questions is seemingly unable to pronounce the consonant 's', and looks at the camera every so often, almost as if he were checking to make sure it was still there.

This verbal transaction is so lengthy and tedious that by the time they establish that the man is world famous Uruha Kato Sensei, and was there to speak about his latest novel, a period piece about Samurai (because there wasn't enough media on that already) I had finished my strawberry crunch bar and was half asleep.

"Yuuuuuuki!" I moan, zombie like.

"Sshh!" He snaps, frowning. But then, "What is it?"

"Can we go to the park?" He shifts beneath me, and rests a hand down on my stomach. I place my ice cream stick in my mouth, and cup his hand in my mine. "Pleeeeeaaaasssee, Yuki. I've been inside _all_ day."

"You woke up an hour ago." He points out, his eyes still trained on the screen. "Why don't you go play with your friends?" I frown, and stifle the urge to tell him not to talk to me like I'm a child. To be fair, I was laying on his lap with a candy stick in my mouth begging to be taken to the park.

"I was out all night with Hiro." I remind him, as if he needed reminding. He'd waited up 'till 4 o'clock the previous night, under the guise of 'brainstorming for his next book', but he was on a three month vacation from writing and we both knew it.

**Shattered** , his latest novel was still fresh on the shelves from it's release two days ago. He'd worked himself to the bone to finish that one in what seemed to me, like record time. After six months of eating nothing but cigarette butts and beer, no sleeping, and not being able to take his frustrations out on me (I sought refuge at NGR, behind glass wall D putting the finishing touches on Bad Luck's third album.), he remained in bed for a full week, to recover.

He claimed he wanted to get it out at least three month before my album dropped. My last two LP's, had been released in tandem with his books, 'Lover', and 'Cool'. He didn't want the public to think we were doing anything as adorably couply as coordinating our respective careers. Heh.

"Can we go to the park, Yuki?" I ask again. "I didn't drink last night, so I wouldn't be hung over, and we could hang out." No response, but his eyes narrow. He's trying to listen to boring old Uruha Kato. "Are you paying attention to that old fart instead of me?"

"That old fart, is one of the most prolific modern novelists of the 21st century." He snaps, distractedly.

"...Isn't calling him a modern novelist, then saying he's of the 21st century ...superfluous?"

Yuki glares down at me. Its glare number 3.2. The one where he's genuinely annoyed, but also genuinely amused, and isn't going to yell at me.

"Who the hell taught you the word superfluous?"

"Tohma." I sit up from his lap, and pull my knees under me, forcing all emotion from my face, except for a small, insipid smile, and add an airy iciness to my voice. "Shindou-san, don't you think _slathering_ your body in glitter paint, and then wearing a sequined stage costume is a bit ...superfluous?"

I'm ecstatic as Yuki leans back and offers up a rare chuckle. Most of it is silent, as if actually giving voice to laughter would be too much, but his amber eyes are dancing, and there's a smile on his face. A beautiful, out of place smile, that's for his Shu-chan only.

"You better not let him catch you doing that. _Ever_."

I roll my eyes and resume the position with my head on his lap. "Duh. I like the employed version of me." I was about to continue the story, and describe how K showed up out of left field, and ushered me out of Tohma's clutches towards the stage before our demonic president was able to go in for the kill on his verbal assault. But a prompt little buzz emitted from the voice box on the telephone. The voice of Mizuki filled the room.

"Yuki-san, I've got the book. Buzz me up, if you'd be so kind."

"Hi, Mizuki!" I call, and reach across Yuki, with excessive dramatics, falling all over him to press the button.

I get up, and head for the kitchen, just barely evading Yuki's grasping hands. I cast him a playful grin as I disappear into the kitchen, and deposit the candy stick in the trash can.

I'd first met Mizuki two years ago, as I was entering Yuki's first penthouse. At first I'd assumed that she was another of his trollops, and felt an upsurge of annoyance at the sight of her, but with her soft smile, and kind eyes, as well as her request that I take it easy on Yuki as he'd just turned in a manuscript ten days late and was tired, that annoyance was short lived.

I met her again two weeks later, after Yuki and I had, had our first tiff. What happened was, his sister Mika asked me to convince him to go to Kyoto for a few days to visit his sick father. I suggested it to him, and he got really angry and suspicious, and demanded to know what Mika offered me in exchange for getting him to go to home. He accused me of only pursuing him so I could use his connection to Tohma to further my career. (Can you _believe _that!)

Anyway, after I told Touma to forget the contract, and proved my undying love to my darling Yuki, he did as I'd suggested and went home. However, I was completely miserable for the four days he was gone. I didn't sleep. I didn't go home if I could help it, and I attempted to drown myself in cheep liquor. I also spent a great deal of time walking throughthe park, the place where we'd met, hoping against hope that he'd emerge and sweep me off my feet. Unfortunately, my prince didn't come.

But Mizuki did.

Apparently Yuki had returned to Kyoto without alerting anyone that he was leaving, and since the park was one of his haunts, and he was late on submitting the final draft of a transcript, Mizuki was there searching for him. She recognized me, and because I was drunk, and feverish (I'd fallen in the fountain about an hour earlier and refused to get out) brought me to her home. She let me shower, and even let me borrow her boyfriend's clothes!

She listened as I recapped Yuki and mine's tempestuous first two weeks of knowing each other, and unfortunately felt it was necessary to inform poor, naive, me that _my_ Yuki was engaged to a woman named Ayaka, who now coincidentally is dating my best friend Hiro, but that's another story. Or at least another chapter. Anyway, my fever and broken heart combined and induced an impromptu fainting spell. I woke up in the hospital. They diagnosed me with the common cold, and a very mild case of alcohol poisoning. Heheh. Maybe my actions _are_ a bit superfluous...

But it was Mizuki who summoned Yuki back from Kyoto.

She's like a good fairy!

From the kitchen I hear the sounds of Yuki opening the door, and allowing Mizuki in. I reenter just as she's rising from a deep bow, and closing the door behind her. Upon exiting the kitchen I place two drinks on the coffee table. A beer for Yuki, and a soda for Mizuki. We exchange smiles and pleasantries. I notice, not for the first time, how simple she is.

She has close cropped jet black hair, pale yellow skin, and lovely coal black eyes. As usual she wears a plain gray business suit, with a skirt. No make up. And flat shoes. The only other woman I'm acquainted with that wears flat shoes is my mother. But despite the fact that you would never notice Mizuki in a crowd, I hold her simple beauty in very high regard.

Yes, even above the radical, stylized beauty of the j-rock princesses, like Noriko Ukai, that stroll in and out of NGR. The cocky, painted up, reporters and interviewers. Even the traditional geisha like beauty of Ayaka. _Even_ the ageless class that floods every room the second Mika Seguchi enters it. Mizuki's simple beauty was a rare commodity in this day and age, and because I put such high regard in beautiful things, that, along with her endless patience in working with my lover, makes her a goddess in my book.

My lover's editor was there to deliver to Yuki, a special edition copy of his newly released novel, the cover of which had been designed by a world famous illustrator.

"Oooh, Yuki. She's so pretty." I say, as I lean over the back of the couch where he and Mizuki are sitting. On the cover beneath the title **Shattered**,a lovely Japanese woman lays naked, surrounded by shards of broken glass. She holds one such shard and looks up at it, almost longingly as blood from her snared fingertip pools at one jagged edge.

There's a song in her eyes. I hear it. An acapella rhapsody. I want to steal it from her, and use it in one of _my_ songs, but...I can't put my finger on the notes. It's frustrating.

Like trying to describe a color you've never seen before.

"We'll wait until June to release these." Mizuki was saying, through sips of her drink. Apparently she was verythirsty.

"But how come you didn't make all the books like this and release them at the same time?" I asked, coming around the couch to sit beside Yuki, so I could get a closer look at the captivating cover. It seemed unfair to make people wait for such awonderful illustration.

"It's called capitalism." Yuki replies evenly. "Just like when you rush out to buy those ridiculous DVD's as soon as they come out? But then a few months later a 'special edition' is released for about twenty bucks more, and you have to buy it all over again."

I blink, and slowly but surely, it dawns on me that he's right. I frown, feeling extremely jipped.

"Hey!"

Mizuki chuckles, as she finishes off her drink, and to my surprise she rises to her feet. After telling us that she has to go due to some appointment across town, Yuki follows her to the door to see her out, before returning to the sitting area.

"Don't do that!" He snaps, startling me, and almost causing me to drop the book, which I was preparing to open. The couch dips a bit, as he reclaimshis seat, and snatches the book from my hands. Rather than pout, I shoot him one of his own trademark glares. Number 5. The one where he's actually upset, and about to berate me for doing something wrong.

"What, you're gonna tell me that I gotta wait 'till June to see the dumb special edition?" I ask heatedly. He returns the glare, but then his expression becomes more grudging than angry...and then pensive. Then he shrugs, and hands me the book before picking up the remote controller and taking the t.v. off of mute, so he can listen to lame old Uruha Kato some more.

Huffing a bit, I accept the novel and place it on my knees, making a very big deal indeed about the simple task of opening the cover to read the title page. And then I read it...and then I freeze.

Everything freezes.

No...freeze isn't the right word.

Damn words and their occasional...'not right-ness'.

Already bleary eyed I look over at Yuki who is making a concentrated effort not to notice.

"So I guess...the fancy cover's not the only reason this edition is special." I mutter quietly, unable to keep the smile off of my face.

Yuki shifts a bit in his seat, and glances my way. The corner of his mouth twitches just a little."Whatever."

Not wasting any more time, I launch myself into his lap, sending us both spilling off of the couch, and onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Finally I maneuver myself into a suitable position, laying on top of him, so we're faceto face. He's used to this by now, and doesn't fight it.

"Thank you, Eiri." I whisper into his ear, before topping off the gesture with the gentlest kiss. This initiates desired flow of events, and I pretty much figure we're not gonna make it out to the park today. Sighs, and eventually, moans drown out the monotonous voice of boring Uruha Kato Sensei, while on our leather couch the special edition of Yuki Eiri's **Shattered** lays open to the title page, which simply reads,

"_For Shu_."

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Okay, so this chap. was mostly Shu's musings and _yes_, I am trying to drown you all in fluff. No plot yet. I enjoy strolling through character's heads, so if you're an action adventure lover, this is probably boring you. It'll get more exciting though, promise. Also, the fluff stops here. We're going to drama town, ladies and gents. It's time for some good old fashioned emotional torture. R&R!

**Tune In Next Time for**: Hiro's POV. It seems that he and Ayaka are having some trouble in paradise, while the Bad Luck gang tries to put the finishing touches on their final track, and what does an American film maker have to do with all of that?


	2. Ayaka and I

**-Levity-**

Author's Note: Changed my mind. Rating's gonna be T so probably nothing too explicit in this story. Then again I'm fickle, so...yeah. Subject to change. We're having actual plot in this chapter though. Huzzah!

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

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**Chapter Two**

**-Ayaka and I- **

You know what's annoying? G-chords. Now, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against G-chords personally. They've got a nice deep, full, sound. And they're useful. Trusty. They pop up in lots of places too. _Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay_, for instance. All about the G-chords.

Ray Charles wrote that. Good man.

It's just that G-chords are probably the hardest, easy chord one can play on a guitar. It's surprising I've never picked up on that, in all my years of playing. But on this balmy Monday morning, while sitting beneath the frigid air conditioning of NGR's Lounge Room B, I've gone up on the G-chord in 'Weightless' fifteen times in a row.

"You wanna take a break?" Shuichi suggests from the arm of the worn, but comfortable tan sofa a few feet away. I glance up at him in time to see him finish of his third bottle of water, and shoot an anxious look at the clock on the wall. We've got about three more hours of work to put in, and he's in a hurry to get home. He'd spent the morning in a blissful daze, but refused to explain why, claimimg we'd all have to wait until June to find out along with the rest of Japan. Whatever that meant.

Sighing a bit, I shake my head, causing a few stray hairs to shift and fall into my face. Annoying. I consider cutting it. Then I shudder at the thought, and place my hands in the appropriate position for the song's intro. I think I'm going to hate this song, once it's released. I'd be content never hearing it again, and we haven't even recorded the chorus yet. It always surprises me how Shu can listen to Bad Luck's hits on the radio, over and over again, despite having heard them continuously months prior. Doesn't he ever get sick of it?

"From the top. One more time."

Suguru's got his part prerecorded in the high tech yamaha he has sitting on the coffee table. He merely presses play, and waits with his nimble fingers poised over the keys, until we get to the chorus. The chorus with the G-Chord.

It's not that the G-chord is a particularly complicated chord. It's actually pretty simple. Low maintenance. Doesn't ask for much.

Ayaka is a lot like a G-chord.

Here...check out this flashback and you'll see what I mean:

_"What do you think about this one?" She asks, turning to face me as she removes yet another plain, soft pink blouse from the rack of plain, soft pink blouses. If I'd bothered to take note of it, the sign on the shop probably read 'The Plain Soft Pink Blouse Store'._

_For a moment I ponder her question, because every question deserves at least a moment of genuine consideration. Once that moment was passed, I found that I didn't really have any particular thoughts on that blouse at all. It was just a 'thing'. Inconsequential. The equivalent of someone asking me, 'Hey, Hiro...what do you think about the endangerment of the Himalayan Firecats?'_

_"That one's nice." I reply with a small smile. Ayaka's brow furrows a bit, but I can't tell if that means she's pleased with my answer, or if she finds it inadequate. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I shift my weight from one foot to the other and wait...wait..._

_"No, I don't think I like it." She shrugs and slips it back into it's proper place._

_I quietly repress the urge to scream._

There. See what I mean? All of our outings are like that. At first it was kind of endearing. It made it easy to break the ice. Her shy, gentle smiles. The way she held my hand so firmly that I didn't have to worry whether my palm was sweating or not. It was reassuring. Safe.

Ayaka comes from money, so she has everything. No point in attempting to woo her with monetary affection. So we did normal couply things. She came to my apartment for dinner. I was an okay cook. She'd never touched kitchenware in her life. We went to the movies, out for walks. Shopping. I actually _like_ shopping. I used to go all the time with Shuichi and his sister Maiko. The actual sorting through clothes and making purchases doesn't do anything for me, but the easy dialogue between the three of us was nice. Heh, there was nothing funnier than being chased out of an expensive boutique for redressing the manniquins. Good times.

Anyways, for almost two years, Ayaka and I have done these things. And guess what? It wasn't so endearing anymore.

It was simple, and easy, and boring, and for some reason it was the most complicated situation I'd ever faced.

Like this damn G-chord.

"...through undercurrents and afterthoughts you-"

"Shit!" I snap, interrupting Shuichi's verse. It was a good verse too. Something about drifting through a garden of underwater plants. Nice visuals. Until my fingers slipped, and fouled the melody. I rise, and set the Fender down on the chair behind me, raking my fingers back through my auburn hair to get it out of my face. My bandmates look mildly startled, and exchange worried glances before Suguru sighs and stands.

"Ten minute break." He says, evenly as he heads for the door."Come on guys. We have to lay down the chorus. Our release date is only a few months away and we have four more tracks to finish."

"We'll get it, don't worry!" Shuichi assures him, canting his pink coiffed head. Our keyboardist merely forces another sigh, and exits, the door swinging closed behind him. I head over to the minifridge, and retrieve a bottle of water, downing half of it in a sizeable swallow. "Do you wanna talk about it?" My best friend asks as he removes a pack of bubblegum from his pocket, and pops a piece into his mouth. I consider that for a moment. Talking about it probably wouldn't help...but it probably wouldn't hurt either.

"It's Ayaka."

I blink, surprised and my mouth closes. Those are the word's I'd been about to speak, however Shu had beaten me to it. Perplexed, I cross to the couch and sit down on the cushion, looking up at him from this lower vantage point. "Am I right?" He asks, while absently trying to read the joke off of the bubblegum wrapper. I nod, my expression asking the unspoken question as to how the dense little monkey had guessed correctly.

"I kinda figured. You've been moody for the last couple of weeks. And I know she spent the night at your place the other day."

The fact that he'd noticed was a bit surprising. Ever since he and Eiri Yuki had returned from their drama free honeymoon to New York, Bad Luck's lead singer had been on cloud nine, completely absorbed in the peace he and his lover had found after two long years of hardships. I was happy for him, honestly, but feeling a tad neglected. No relationship troubles for Japan's favorite yaoi boys meant no Shuichi and I bonding over his woes.

"So did you guys fight?" He asked, gnawing on that gum. After realizing that Ayaka and I had never actually fought, or even so much as disagreed on anything, I shake my head and reply that, "No, we didn't. Things are going really good actually. We just sat on the couch together and...watched movies." Shuichi's countenance is colored by a frown. Heh, it's a pretty cute face, actually. More of a thoughtful pout.

"That's all? That's boring!"

I feel a swell of affection for the vocalist sitting beside me, at his thoughtful empathy. Oh, how I'd wanted to shout those very words over the course of the last few weeks! But still, giving Ayaka the benefit of the doubt I point out that, "You and Yuki just sit around and watch t.v. sometimes."

That thoughtful pout is replaced by a wistful smile as if he's remembering something special. "Yeah...but then we do...you know. Other stuff."

I nod, and roll my eyes a bit at my friend's inability to say the word 'sex', despite having been a cheerful participant in said activity for a long while now. "So have you and Ayaka-san done, uh...that kind of stuff yet?"

"...No. No, we haven't."

Wistful smile is exchanged for slightly agape mouth, and widened eyes. "Seriously? You've been dating for _two years_ and you guys _still _haven't _done it_!"

Before I can execute a full out couch cushion attack on the idiot for his utter lack of tact, the lounge door slams open followed by the all too familiar call of, "BIG NEWS!"

K enters the room, followed by a curious Suguru, and our attention belongs to him as we await the rest of this impromptu announcement.

"Hey, you're late today!" Shuichi says pointing at the large American, as if he'd just spotted Waldo.

K laughs off the accusation, while a hefty stack of documents and letters are waved in our faces."Yes, yes, Shindou-san! I was just off securing the chance of a lifetime for Bad Luck, so I'm _sure_ you'll forgive me!"

"Chance of a lifetime?" Suguru repeats, his interest piqued. The documents, which I now recognize as contracts are doled out to us. All I can see at a glance is the word _Heat _repeated in bold several times, along with a certain name that even in Japan, stands out like a sore thumb.

"Adam Danvers!" Shuichi exclaims in unison with Suguru and I. Apparently this world renown American film maker wants Bad Luck to produce a track for his upcoming action movie, entitled _Heat_. Sure, a few of our songs had been used in commercials and as background music for Japanese media, however this was a big step up. Shuichi's brief tryst with XMR had earned us a tad of American exposure, but we were little more than one of the many indistinguishable 'J-pop' bands. If we were featured in one of Adam Danver's films..._everyone_ would hear our music. 'Everyone' in the global sense.

Well okay, probably not those third world countries where they don't watch a lot of movies, but...all the other parts of the globe, yeah.

"This is amazing..." Shuichi says, his violet-blue eyes scanning over the pages of the contract again and again.

"I'm glad you think so!" From nowhere, our manager produces three pens, and urges us to sign. While Shuichi and Suguru are scrawling their names and initials in all the appropriate margins, I hesitate. K notices, and one blonde eyebrow arches skyward. "Is there a problem, Nakano-san?" He asks and casually places a hand on his trademark holstered magnum.

"It's just a big decision, is all. Who knows what this could lead to? I figured it would be good to take a minute and consider the..." I trail off when I find myself looking down the barrel of said magnum and reconsider my train of thought. "Consider the-the...way you spell my name. Nak-ano...Hir-o-shi..." I sound it out as I obediently sign the paperwork.

"Very good!" K shouts, reholstering his weapon, and snatching up the freshly signed contracts. "I'll get these to Danver's production team ASAP. In the mean time you all will continue to practice, and 'Weightless' will be studio ready by tomorrow morning. Then we can begin working on the track for _Heat_. And 'Weightless' _will_ be ready by tomorrow morning...right?"

Three pairs of eyes slide over to focus on me, and what can I do but smile weakly and give an affirmative nod. "Right."

"Right!" Our manic, magnum toting, manager repeats, before heading for the door. "Back to work boys!"

And then he's gone.

Shuichi is so excited he's bouncing a bit in his seat on the arm of the couch, as if preparing to launch into the mesosphereat any minute. "This is soooo cool! I can't wait to tell Eiri. Do you think he'll be excited? No, probably not. Oh, I should call Ryuichi and tell him! I bet _he'll_ be excited. I wonder if he already knows Adam Danvers? Probably, because Sakuma-san's cool like that. I can't wait to see if-"

"We'd better get back to work." Suguru says pointedly taking a seat before his keyboard, and assuming the play position. I chuckle a bit, and nod, also reclaiming my seat. Shuichi shoots him that cute little pout, but relaxes his shoulders and sits up a bit straighter, preparing to sing.

With my mind on Adam Danvers and the prospect of providing music for one of his amazing films, I make it through the rest of the afternoon without fumbling the chorus _once_. The mind's a funny thing.

About four and half hours later, my hands are cramping a bit, but not only do we get 'Weightless' into studio friendly condition, but we jam to a few skeletal beats Suguru has on his keyboard, as possibilities for the special track. The keyboardist departs soon after that, claiming he's late for his nightschool class. Not bad for a day's work. But with the day done, my thoughts return to my girlfriend. Was boredom really the problem? I mean, we had been dating for a while. Perhaps we just needed to spice things up a bit. All of the other relationships I witness day to day are _not_ lacking in spice, so why did mine have to be? How did I let us become an old married couple?We're bothonly twenty one, after all.

"G'Night!" Shuichi calls, dragging me out of myreverie. I look over to see him shrugging on his orange sweatshirt, followed by his backpack. His voice is a bit hoarse from singing all day. Hopefully he'll have sense enough to rest it for tomorrow. Probably will, seeing as how he's used to the strain.

"Night, man. See you tomorrow." My guitar has already been returned to it's case, and I'm reaching for my leather jacket when I'm suddenly bombarded by Shuichi, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

"Don't be sad, Hiro! You're really smart, so whatever's wrong between you and Ayaka, I'm sure you'll figure it out!"

Smiling, I return the hug, and for a moment that dark gloom that'd been hovering over me is burned away. And it's like I'm...well, weightless. Drifting through a garden of underwater plants.

And then Shuichi dislodges himself from my hold, throws me a reassuring grin, and heads for the door.

"Thanks. See yah." I manage, before he departs. And then I'm alone.

Still smiling, I shake my head and sling my guitar case onto my shoulder. Perhaps I should just call her, and tell her how I feel. Then we could work through it together...but what if she took it the wrong way? What if she thought I was calling _her_ boring?

_Rrrriiiiinnnngggg_!

Startled, I turn and frown over at the old fax machine sitting on a corner desk by the lounge's back wall. After a moment a fax begins to slide, jerkily, from the machine. Bad Luck was the only band that used this room, so whatever it was, it would be there in the morning...but then again, I was in no great rush to go home and make that phone call. I approach the machine, seeing that the fax is now half completed. The bulk of the document is typed, however in the upper left corner is a hand scrawled note, 'For Shindou-san'.

"Shuichi!" I call, crossing the room to peek out of the door and down the hallway. No one in sight. Not surprising, given Shu's earlier rush to get back to his darling Yuki. Shrugging, I return for the fax, figuring I'd take it with me, and give it to him the next day. It's almost done now, and despite the fact that it's not addressed to me, I take best friend privelages and read it over.

It's a short story, entitled The Un-Rainbow, and is dated about eight years prior.I don't follow it carefully, but from what I can gather it's about a young girl who runs away from home in search of the end of a rainbow she sees after a rainy day. Her mother is dying, and she wants to make a wish at the rainbow's end, to save her mother's life. It's well written, but little grammar mistakes are circled here and there, as if it had once been an assignment.With mild disappointment I see that the story is unfinished once the fax completes. Another handwritten note is scrawled at the bottom. I glance this over as well. And then I really wish I hadn't.

_'This was delightful, Eiri-kun. Pay more attention to the phonetics, and be careful not to overuse adjectives. We'll buy you a better thesaurus tomorrow, okay? - Yuki Kitazawa'_

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Thanks to those who read and reviewed chapter one. Please continue to R&R!

I felt like Hiro was bit morose here, but he's in an icky situation. I hope it didn't make him OOC, but he seems like a pretty pensive guy to me. What do you guys think?

Oh, and can anyone tell the newbie if there's a trick to keeping words from slamming together when you save documents here? It keeps junking up my sentences. : (

**Tune In Next Time For**: Ryuichi's POV. We're going to Hollywood! Who is that dashing young action adventure hero? It's Super Duper Kumagoro-chan of course! Kuma-chan is surrounded by space pirates, and the bomb is counting down. Can Ryu save his friend, as well as the beautiful princess Judy-sama before its too late?


	3. Tastes Like Sunshine

**-Levity-**

Author's Notes: You know what gets old fast? Writing in present tense.

Thanks to those who read and reviewed. Please continue to do so! I adore feedback.

Believe it or not this _IS_ Ryuichi's POV. Just keep reading.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

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**Chapter Three**

**-Tastes Like Sunshine-**

I have a damn headache.

One of those annoying ones that start just behind your eyes, and spreads throughout the rest of your brain. That sharp, stabbing, pain makes you certain that you've contracted cancer, or some other horrible affliction. Wouldn't that just be nice and dramatic? Cancer. Well, maybe it's not as serious as all that, but I've definitely got a really bad headache.

Possibly because I've spent the better part of this night in a bar with a British librarian named Wilson Fryes. I disliked him immediately. Didn't like the way he was built; his narrow shoulders, rounded and haunched. Along with his weak chin, it made him look all caved in, as if someone had slammed him front first into a wall when he was a baby. Oooh. That's dark.

Anyway, he was going to sell me some merchandise. Heh, that sounds cool doesn't it?

'Merchandise'.

Sounds exotic. Mysterious. Makes you wonder what precisely that 'merchandise' could be. Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe it doesn't really concern anyone at all. But for the sake of my train of thought, let's pretend it does.

Tell someone you're in a bar buying merchandise and they'll think, 'Oh no! You must be up to something shady. Something clichéd and shady, at that. You're in a dimly lit bar buying 'merchandise'? Get real!'

I know, I know. It_ is_ a tad cliché. To my credit, I only went into the bar with the intention of drinking. Not getting tanked, or anything like that. A nice buzz helps me sleep is all. And you can't drink at home alone, because then you're an alcoholic.

So anyways, there I was in this bar, minding my own business, enjoying a watered down American beer, and in walks this gimpy British ass hole named Wilson Fryes. I'm sitting at a table in the back, and he sits down at the bar. For the first couple of minutes I'm left in peace, but then he shoots me a glance. Then another. And another.

At first I consider just ignoring it. If the homo wanted to check me out, let him. That was his business, as long as he kept to himself. But then he gets up out of his stool, and kinda wanders over to my table. Again, I try the 'ignore him' plan. I figure, if I just don't make eye contact, he'll get the message, and take off. No such luck.

"Hello there," He says quietly in his working class accent. "My name is Wilson. Wilson Fryes."

And then the s.o.b. is sitting at my table! I tell him from the get go that I'm not interested in whatever he's up to. I tell him to let me be. I'm on my way out as soon as I finish my drink. But he keeps on with that irksome accent, and soft tenor voice, and it's not really in my nature to go from placid to pissed off so quickly…or maybe the beer had me mellowed out. For whatever reason, I let the guy stay and we talk. And after he's bought me a couple of drinks, and loosened a few of my inhibitions, he starts telling me about this 'merchandise'.

The alarms go off in the back of my mind, loud and clear. 'Get this guy out of here,' My mind tells me. 'Or better yet, just pay your tab and go.' But you know that thing they say about curiosity and the cat? That applies here.

So I tell him to go ahead and show me his merchandise, and I'll let him know if I'm interested. I'm trying to play it cool, you know? As if I know the first thing about transactions of this nature.

But before he can place his steel plated briefcase on the table, things suddenly get very loud. And bright. And hot. And explosion like.

In other words, the bar explodes. With me in it.

About two or three minutes later, I drift up from unconsciousness, and immediately begin hacking out lungfulls of plaster and smoke. The place is smoldering with heat, and a few charred bits of wood lay on top of me. I move to shove them aside, but my left arm cries out in protest. Yeah, that's broken. Definitely broken.

Once the pain subsides enough for me to move, I use the other arm, and manage to wriggle free in time to dodge a chunk of roofing that had decided it didn't want to stay up there with the rest of the ceiling.

After hauling my battered body to its feet, I can see through the smoke just enough to pick out a few very lifeless bodies. This unexpected situation prompts me to mutter that,

"These joints should seriously consider investing in metal detectors."

I've only got a couple of minutes to get out of here before the whole place comes down. And that's assuming there's not a stove in the back so the bar's patrons could enjoy oven fresh pizza and buffalo wings. The last thing I needed was for a gas leak to add to my predicament. About then, something silver catches my eyes. That briefcase. I amble a few steps over to it, and pick it up. It's a little dingy now, but unharmed. I wrench it from the meaty grasp of the late Wilson Fryes. Never liked him to begin with.

My quarry procured, I stagger towards the exit, but then through the sooty atmosphere another upright figure emerges. Tinted orange by the flames, a lady stands akimbo, hands on her hips, legs askance, head canted. Naturally, she's a blonde. Well…she's a blonde. Not sure how natural it is.

"Hello Reager," Mystery lady says. If I could feel my extremities I'd say I frowned, and felt my body tense at the sound of that name. A name that used to be mine. A long time ago.

"Who the hell are you?" I respond tersely, my voice choked and dry.

"A friend of a friend." The blonde replies smoothly, a smile curling her ruby red lips. Slowly her hand moves beneath her sheer skirts, and I know even before I see it that she's got a gun. The cute little derringer is pointing straight at me as she calmly asks me to,

"Give me the briefcase, and I'll let you keep the use of one leg."

We trade glares for a few beats. Sizing each other up without breaking contact. Would she pull the trigger? Yes. Was I willing to die for the contents of this glinting silver case?

…Maybe.

It -was- something worth killing for, after all. And the pretty blonde wasn't the only one with a gun.

"Don't be silly, Reager. You move another inch, and you're dead."

My twinging left arm froze in mid reach for the nine millimeter stashed in my back pocket, and concealed by the long shirt and leather jacket I was wearing. For the first time this night, panic begins to seep into my system like poison, and blood is pouring down from a gash above my shoulder, pooling in my cupped palm before splattering to the floor. In the smoldering ruins of that bar, I brought that hand to my lips, and tasted it.

Do you know what blood tastes like? I'm sure you've heard it described before, in movies or in books. Like pennies. Like copper. Like death.

In reality, blood doesn't taste like any of those things.

It tastes kinda toxic and plastic-y, and it makes your tummy hurt.

"Cut!"

"Ryu, stop licking the artificial blood!"

"Come on, Ryu we're filming. Now's not the time for nonsense!"

My shoulders sag a bit, and I allow my left arm, which is…or -was- covered in artificial blood to fall to my side. I guess my mind wandered a bit. It's just that this is one of my favorite parts, and then the writers had to mess it up by adding boring old dialogue. I feel kinda bad, as everyone starts resetting the scene. I hear a man talking to the director about just getting my stunt double to stand in while Judy says her lines, seeing as how I don't speak anymore in this scene, and a fight sequence is coming up. I don't think that's very fair. They paid -me- to be in this movie, not Stunt Double Ryuichi. Well, I guess they paid him too. But not as much.

I don't have to worry though, because I'm pretty sure I heard the director reply that he thinks me tasting my blood is kind of sexy, and he might leave it in. Hah! Take that, Mister Wants to Replace Ryu-chan guy!

"Dinner break, gang! Back here for the top of scene 32 in ONE HOUR!" Somebody's assistant yells, and all of the people that just died in that horrible explosion arise from the dead like zombies, and head off to get some food. Hopefully not zombie food though, because people here need their brains for us to finish making the movie.

"How're you holding up?" Judy asks, walking over to me with some difficulty, seeing as how there are two young women procuring bits of her clothing, er- her 'costume', so she doesn't mess them up, or lose them while away from the set. She asks me that at least two or three times every day if we're filming together. Even though she's playing a bad guy in this movie, K's wife is really nice to me, and she's really pretty. I've seen her be kinda mean to other people though, so I'm not sure if she looks out for me because she wants to, or if K asked her to. I doubt Rage-sama would ask her to look out for me, because Rage is just evil. A real bitch. At least that's what Kumagoro thinks. I would never call a woman the b-word, but Kumagoro's got a mouth on him!

"I'm fine, Judy." I reply, offering her a big smile, also with some difficulty as several young women are removing things from me, including the gun holstered and hidden beneath my shirt (it's a fake gun, don't worry!), and that infamous brief case full of 'merchandise'! You know, not even I know what's in that brief case. Or at least I'm not supposed to. The writers haven't written that scene yet. Or I think they did…but the director didn't like it, and told them to rewrite it. It's all very hush hush. Once, when no one was looking I took a peak though and all that's in there is Styrofoam! That's fun to tear up, and dig your nails into, but it's not worth blowing up a perfectly good bar over, na no da!

"I still think there should be space pirates."

Judy chuckles a bit, as she removes her own earrings and accepts a wet towel to wipe the sweat and soot from her face and arms. "Don't worry." She nods seriously. "We'll find a script for you with space pirates soon enough."

"Miss Winchester!" Someone else's assistant calls jogging across the large in door lot with a cell phone in hand. Judy excuses herself with a small wave, and walks over to the nearest Studio cart that will take her back to her trailer. It was K on the phone for her. How nice to have a phone call from someone you love waiting for you after a long day's work.

I like riding in the carts! One time I got to drive one, but once the security guards caught me they said I wasn't allowed to anymore.

Once the nasty blood is mostly off of me, Karen approaches with a big smile and a bottle of expensive Norwegian water for me to drink. It's supposed to be superior water, because it's in a special bottle, but in my opinion it tastes kind of funny. I like tap water best!

"Good job, Ryu! Kumagoro thinks so too. Now we can finally grab a bite to eat. I'm starved!"

I can only nod, as I'm pretty busy drinking my water. People here in L.A. only call me 'Ryu' instead of Ryuichi or Sakuma-san, because they have trouble pronouncing my full name. That's fine with me, though, because it makes it sound like everybody's my really good friend!

Karen is a grad student at UCLA. She's interning here as my assistant. Rage picked her out for me. My new manager and I disagree on a lot of things, but I'm glad she picked Karen to help me out. She's really nice, and she always tells me the truth instead of what I want to hear. People like her are hard to find when you're in the biz, like I am, ya know.

Karen is only my assistant when I'm on the movie set of 'Porophyria'. Porophyria is a kind of disease that makes your head hurt, and makes your skin all hole-y. Did you know that? It's not even really the name of the movie. It's just a disguise name, to throw off fans because this movie is based on a popular American comic book series. Isn't that exciting and mysterious?

Nothing is ever as it seems!

Well, I guess some things are. Things like me really being Ryuichi Sakuma, Kumagoro really being Kumagoro, and Karen really being Karen Shrapner. That's a fun name isn't it? Shrapner. Go ahead and say it a couple of times! But not too many, because then it'll sound like nonsense.

And now's not the time for nonsense.

When I'm done drinking, Karen takes the emptied bottle and hands me a towel and Kumagoro, before leading the way to our own Studio cart, which will be driven by a licensed golf cart driving professional who'll take me to my own trailer where I'll have dinner waiting. Hopefully something really yummy like waffles and ice cream.

As we board the cart Karen is telling me about my schedule for the rest of the evening. It's already about eight o'clock, and there's still lots and lots of stuff I gotta do. I play with Kumagoro and eye the stack of magazines Karen has beneath the clipboard with my schedule on it. I ease one out of the pile. It's fun to look at magazines sometimes. There's actually a lot of sitting and waiting involved in making a movie, and since I kept getting in trouble for drawing in the sets, and trying to play with the workers, Karen bought me lots and lots of magazines to read. A lot of times there's people I know in them, and that's always fun to see! But not when the magazine says mean things about them. And this one time, when I first came back to America, I saw a pretty mean article about me.

Well I guess the bulk of it wasn't mean, but it said a couple of mean things. Like pointing out that I was 34 year old bachelor with no public record of any previous long term relationships. That's mean isn't it? And it has nothing, nothing, nothing to do with acting or singing!

I know what everybody thinks about me. They think I'm too incompetent to find a 'somebody'. Or else that I'm too slutty. Or too virginal. It's gotta be either or. Everyone sees everything about me that way. In extremes. Sometimes I like it, because it makes people like me, and want to be around me. It means I'm entertaining, and people like to be entertained, right? Sometimes it's nice.

But other times it's not so nice. Like when the people close to me start seeing me the way the people far from me do. Everyone thinks I'm some lonely, eccentric, millionaire. Would it surprise you all to learn that I'm a perfectly well balanced sexual being who is capable of engaging in meaningful, equalized, relationships with other like-minded individuals?

"Hey Ryu, have you seen this one? 'How to create and maintain meaningful and equalized relationships with like-minded individuals and realize your full potential as a well balanced sexual being."

I blink over at Karen, who is brandishing an article from the latest copy of my favorite magazine at me.

"Um…nope. I'll read it later, na no da."

Okay, so maybe I'm not seeing anyone right now. And maybe I have minimal bad feelings about it. But there are plenty of unattached 30 year olds in Hollywood. Just because I don't jump into bed with the first pretty actress I see -doesn't- make me incompetent.

It just makes me picky.

It gets difficult sometimes though, with just Kuma-chan and me, and a bunch of people who call me Ryu even though we're not very close friends at all. Especially in times like this when I've got ooky blood taste in my mouth, and everyone I know in L.A. is off incommunicado with their lovers.

I'm not sure incommunicado is the right word for that sentence, but it sounds really neat, na no da!

And that's when my cell phone rings. It's that David Bowie song from the movie Labyrinth. Heh, I love that movie! I have to resist the urge to just let it play from inside Kumagoro, and sing along, but I miss a lot of calls that way, and Karen gives me a look, so I fish the cell phone out of my bunny and press talk.

"Hello, hello, it's Ryu, super action adventure star extraordinaire!"

"Hello, Ryuichi-chan, super action adventure star extraordinaire! It's Shuichi!"

OH MY GOD IT'S SHUICHI!

"Um…okay?" Karen replies.

Oops, I must've shouted out loud. Yeah, I probably did, because now Shu-chan is giggling.

"Hey, Shuichi, what's up?" I ask coolly, as if I hadn't just alerted all of Los Angeles that the lead singer of Bad Luck was on the line.

"I have the best news! But first, how are you doing?"

"I have blood in my mouth, and we blew up the bar!"

"Huh?"

Karen shakes her head at me, and for a moment I wonder why, and then I remember. It's a breach of my contract to tell anyone details about the movie. Too bad Karen's fluent in Japanese, or else I'd tell Shu _everything_ about the movie.

"Oh um…I'm fine. What's your best news, Shu-chan?"

"Adam Danvers wants us to do the music for his new movie! Isn't that cool?"

"Wow, Adam Danvers? That's awesome-azing, Shu! How'd that happen?"

And he launches into an exciting tale about how Danvers heard one of Bad Luck's songs in a dance club while abroad, liked it, and decided he wanted something with a similar feel for a sequence or two in his next film. I'm very happy for him, and I feel kind of special because he called to tell me about it. It makes me feel like we're really close friends, ya know? I like Shuichi a lot. I was worried for a while that he'd be mad at me because of my less than fair tactics in our PR battle, but in the end, I think he understood. Now, with Nittle Grasper indefinitely disbanded, he's the front man of NGR's top selling band. It's best that way, I think. It was time I moved on, but someone had to reign over NGR that was at least half as shiny as me. And Shuichi is ultra super mega uber shiny when he wants to be.

Like the brightest jewels. Like a supernova. Like morning sunshine.

Like …other really shiny things.

Yeah, he's pretty neat. I don't really want to hang up with him, but he says he has to go, and I think I can hear Yuki-san's voice in the background, and then Shu just gets really distracted, so I say I'll talk to him later. We'd gotten to my trailer a couple minutes ago, so get out and head inside, feeling oddly hollow.

"You okay, Ryu?" Karen asks, as she sets all of her things on the couch by the door, and takes a seat.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Eventually I wish people would stop having to ask me that though.

Eventually I want a life where my days don't end in a mouth full of blood. I want my days to end in something that tastes like sunshine.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Whew. I was actually really nervous about writing in Ryu-chan's point of view. I've seen him portrayed in so many different ways, and there are bits and pieces I really like, and feel are accurate, and others I don't. Hopefully I've done an okay job of making him my own. He and Yuki are such complicated characters!

Also, I'm really bad about proof reading my own work. I usually write out chapters all in one gush, and then enter them immediately. I'm a tad impatient. I'll look for a beta reader, and in the mean time, I'll make friends with the spell checker.

Thanks again to my readers and reviewers. Please stick with me!

**Tune In Next Time For:** Yuki's POV! The novelist enjoys a bit of downtime while preparing for some hard core promoting for his new book.


	4. Lucky Cig

**-Levity-**

Author's Notes: Thanks a lot to those who are following my story! Sorry this update took so long. Please continue to R&R!

As a reminder, this story is set a little while after Yuki and Shuichi return from visiting Kitazawa's grave in New York at the end of Book 12. Those of you following the Genzo tracks, please disregard them for the sake of my story, or consider this AU.

If a word appears like -this-, that indicates italics.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Chapter Four**

**- Lucky Cig - **

"So what would you say if they asked you that?"

"No one's going to ask me something so stupid."

"Yeah, but what would you say if they -did-?"

"…I'd say hell -no_-_."

I rest the back of my head against the stretch of wall above the headboard, as if this could counteract the annoyance accumulating in the guise of headache. For the third or fourth time in the last thirty minutes I glance at the digital clock sitting on the bedside table. It reads 12:52 PM, which is way earlier than I'd intended to wake up.

Yet here I was, half an hour deep into a conversation I really didn't feel like having.

"But Yuki-san, this new image of yours could really work to your benefit." Mizuki points out, her voice slightly muffled as though she were pressing the receiver to her mouth with her shoulder, due to otherwise occupied hands.

"What new image?" I ask frowning, as I shift free of the comforter, and reach down to the floor to retrieve my pants. From the left pocket I procure my lighter, and cigarettes. Three left, and one is inverted, the filter pointing downward, rather than upward. A habit I'd picked up while in America. The inverted cig was supposed to be lucky. Of course I didn't really believe that crap. But it couldn't hurt, right? I select one of the filter side up cig's, bring it to my lips, and light it.

"Oh, you know…" My editor replies hesitantly, leading me to believe that I'm not going to like what she's about to say. "Your 'familial' image."

"What?"

"Well everyone's seen the rings. You know what they're all saying. You've really settled down now."

"What, in our history together, makes you think I give a damn what those tabloids are saying? Just because that brat's walking around with a ring on his finger doesn't mean -"

"But you've got a ring on -your- finger too." She admonishes, sounding a little too amused for my liking. "And you're the one who told me to add that dedication to the special edition of **Shattered**, so you can just save the rant Yuki-san. I know you too well."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Okay, but don't forget to take your copy of the book, and you have to be at the station at eight P.M. and the interview starts at ten so-"

"Yeah, yeah."

I click the 'off' button, momentarily wishing that the portable phone's cradle wasn't on the dresser across the room. Pressing a button just didn't have the same dramatic finality as slamming a phone down on its hook to hang it up.

I sit there in bed, smoking, and brooding over Mizuki's ridiculous mock interview questions. 'Have you and Shindou-san considered adopting?' What kind of nonsense was that? I have serious doubts about that idiot's ability to care for himself, let alone a child. And as for me, I hate kids. Plain and simple. They're loud, and accident prone, and obnoxious, and needy, and occasionally they smell odd.

I have Shuichi for all of those things.

Still scowling I hold up my hand and observe the platinum band around my ring finger. I'd thought long and hard over the decision to buy the pair of us these damn things, and the time we'd spent in New York, was supposed to have been private, and well…damn it, -intimate-. I didn't want anyone asking questions about it.

Not that I'd expected much. The stalkerazzi was mostly nonexistent while in the States, however upon returning we were greeted by hordes of interviewers, and photographers, pummeling us both with annoying questions, and equally, if not more annoying, cheap perfumes and colognes intermingling with BO.

For the record, there's nothing worse than being swarmed by journalists and cameramen who just don't realize that a swab of deodorant in the morning is simply non equivalent to a regular regiment of bathing.

-Ugh-

Speaking of which, the brat and I had fallen asleep last night without bothering to change the sheets. I'm not exactly April fresh myself.

Finally, I slide out of bed, accepting the fact that I won't be able to achieve blissful unconsciousness again for another several hours, and strip the sheets, stuffing them haphazardly into the nearby hamper, along with my silk pajama pants. Naked, I make my way to the bathroom.

I'm not new to the 'price of fame' drama, but now that we were comit…now that we were officia… now that things have -changed- between the brat and I, I'm actually quite miffed over the prospect of strangers trolling through our personal lives. That was fine in the beginning, but not anymore.

Perhaps I'll mention that during the interview…or would that just invite more problems? The press might just take a 'Leave us the hell alone, please' as a 'We have something to hide', and intensify their tactics.

Fine, I won't mention it, but the next time one of those manic fan girls rips Shuichi's shirt off while he's on his way home I'll…

As I adjust the water to the appropriate temperature and step onto the cold ceramic floor of the shower, that theoretic threat is interrupted when my short term memory shudders to life, and I begin recalling the details of the previous day. Sex with Shu, slept, smoked, slept, ate, slept, Shu came home, More sex, and then something…something, important.

Shuichi had been particularly 'spirited' last night, and I was having trouble remembering why… Oh, right. Some Director wanted him to do…something. Probably something involving music. Shoot a music video? Yeah, that was probably it.

About an hour later, I'm shower fresh, in a clean pair of slacks, glancing over a literary magazine, and testing the temperature of the reheated coffee Shuichi had made that morning. Only one thirty, and nothing to do for several hours until my interview.

I take the time to down my coffee, and eat a slice of leftover cheesecake before deciding on my afternoon activities.

I'll take a nap.

After discarding the dishes in the dishwasher, I head back toward the master bedroom however, halfway through the living room, something catches my eye. A slip of paper, shoved neatly under the door. I frown over at it, trying to discern its nature: a white manila envelope. Initially I figured it was mail, but then I remembered that our mail was delivered to a set of lock boxes down on the first floor. There would be no need for a delivery man to come all the way up here for a simple letter that upon closer inspection didn't seem to be from any company that required one to sign for it.

I knelt before the door, and reached downward to pick up the envelope. 'For Shuichi' was written in the upper left corner. Had some wily fan snuck all the way up here to-

"Hey!" I snap as the envelope is yanked back out into the hallway, and out of my reach. Annoyed, I quickly rise, unlocking and snatching open the door in one fluid movement, only to find a very startled Shuichi standing on the other side, clutching said envelope.

He looked a little haggard, almost as if he'd run a good portion of the way here from wherever he'd been, probably NGR. Stray strands of pink hair stuck out all over at odd places, and his tacky orange windbreaker had fallen off his shoulders, and was pooling around his wrists. Also he was heaving for breath, his skin ruddy, and covered with a sheen of sweat.

"What are you doing here?"

The question was asked in unison, which only served to fuel my annoyance. I bite it back however, and step back, indicating her should enter.

"I thought you had an interview today. I called your cell phone a bunch of times but it went straight to voice mail!" The brat said immediately kicking off his sneakers, and heading deeper into the apartment. Frowning, I kneel again to place the worn tennis shoes on the mat by the door, where they belong, before following him down the hall.

"Cell's off. I was asleep. Interview's tonight. What is that?"

"What is what?" He asks before hanging a left into the guest bedroom, which served as 'Shuichi's junk room' for the most part. I watched him, my eyebrows arched in mild curiosity as he shoved the envelope into the drawer of a desk in the corner. "What do you mean what is what? That envelope."

He turns to face me, a forced smile on his face, and gives a weak shrug. "Just some fan mail. Are you okay?"

"…Why wouldn't I be okay? Are you high?"

"No, I'm not high!" He snapped incredulously. "I would never do something like that. Are you insane? Do you have any idea how many young people look up to me! I couldn't take advantage of their trust and admiration, and lead them down the dark and deadly path of drug ab-"

"Alright, alright, shut up, idiot."

If his near hysterics were any indication, his odd behavior was just …his odd behavior, and nothing to be concerned about. With the incident already being filed away into the 'forgotten' section of my mind, I resume my trek back to the bedroom.

"Wait, Eiri!" He snaps, before colliding into my back, and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, ensnaring me in a bone crushing hug. I let my limbs go slack, not bothering to tense or fight it, and prolong the experience.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I repeat, and a moment later his grip loosens. "You don't get off until 4 or 5."

"I was worried!" He replied earnestly, before blanching a bit, at his choice of words. "I mean I was…hungry."

"…You were -hungry-?"

"Yup! And we have a loooong lunch today, so I thought I'd come eat with you!"

"Well I already ate. I'm going back to sleep."

"Sleep!" He snapped a bit more loudly than I would've liked as he followed me into the bedroom. "But you said you've been asleep all day. And what did you eat? There's nothing in the fridge but that week old cheesecake!"

"Nag, nag, nag. You're worse than a woman. If you're hungry order something, and I'll eat it."

"I'm not worse than a woman!" He replied impudently before turning back toward the door, presumably to find a house phone and order food. "And that's sexist anyway!"

"Fine…you're -equally- as bad as a woman." I mutter, falling onto the stripped mattress, and laying back on the pillow. I doubted I'd be able to sleep, however resting my eyes until the food arrived seemed fair. It was a bit of surprise when the sensation of being watched caused me to lift my lids. Shuichi hovered in the doorway, his expression dark with a mature sense of worry.

It was actually an expression I was familiar with. An expression usually reserved for me by Tohma when the insufferable molly coddler thought I wasn't looking. It didn't belong on the brat's face.

"What's that look about?" I ask sharply.

The question jarred him, and his countenance quickly faded into his usual smile. He shook his head, causing bubblegum tendrils of hair to swish around his boyish face. "Nothing, nothing! Just thinking about stuff. I'll call, and the food should be here soon!"

And then he thudded off down the hall.

"Little weirdo." I say to myself before lighting another cigarette and laying back to wait.

Shuichi stays for about an hour and a half, before a rather boisterous call from his manager K, summons him back to NGR. He seems normal enough, going on and on about how Hiro thinks he and Ayaka are in a rut, and how Ryuichi is more than half way done filming his movie over in America, and how Adam Danvers is coming all the way to Japan some time next week to meet with the band, and discuss the movie with them, and so on and so forth. I nod, and make all the right noises. The Italian food is admittedly more satisfying than that slice of cheese cake I'd had earlier.

With a hasty "Good luck," and a brief kiss he's out of the door, and in his wake, the spacious apartment is filled with resounding silence. I glance over at the analog clock hanging above the sink in the kitchen. It's about three fifteen.

You'd think time would have the courtesy to move a bit faster, so I could get the damn interview over and done with.

I boot up my lap top, and spend a few minutes staring at the blinking cursor with my fingers poised over the keyboard before I realize that no writing will get done today, and I nudge the screen close, letting the machine switch to hibernation mode.

Don't get the wrong idea, now. It's not that I'm nervous about the interview. I couldn't count how many interviews I'd done over the course of my illustrious career.

It's just that I…

Well, I haven't…

Ah, whatever. I don't have to explain myself.

Finally, I settle on the couch, a book in hand, and read. It takes a few tries, but eventually I get absorbed into the story, and the time passes quick enough.

At about eight o' three I arrive at the television station, wearing a midnight blue silk shirt, a pair of black slacks, and a pair of shoes likely to make Japan's 'top ten most expensive footwear' list. Assuming such a list exists. Someone's blushing assistant gives me a brief tour of the backstage area, before leaving me in the green room with a glass of wine, and a stack of magazines, none of which I'm interested in. The only other thing I have with me is the special edition copy of my novel. I observe it curiously, considering whether or not I should read it to occupy myself.

I usually can't stand reading my own writing. The words pour out of me, and then they're out, and it's as simple as that. Content was always immaculate, because well…I'm brilliant. The organization was always a bit sloppy though. This was yet another reason Mizuki was prime for me. I rarely, if ever, proof chapters before turning them into her. She did a lot more work than most editors.

I was bored as hell though, so I figured why not, and opened the book to the first page; the title page.

Except the title page wasn't there.

"What the hell…?" I murmur, flipping a few pages back and forth with my thumb, trying to find it. It wasn't a pivotal page, but it was the one with my dedication on it...

My eyes narrow as I catch sight of the torn edge, barely visible between the book's hard backed cover, and the second page which bore copyright information.

Someone had torn the title page -out-.

"Yuki-san, we're ready for you in makeup."

The young woman's timid voice is mildly startling and I look up at her in a bit of a daze.

"I-Is everything okay, Yuki-san?"

"Um…yes. I'll be right there, thank you."

She gives a bow and exits. My gaze returns to the book, as if to confirm what I already knew. Yes, that page had definitely been ripped away. But how? When? It had been sitting in my study for the last three days. No one had been in or out of the apartment except Shuichi –

Ah, that was probably it. Shuichi had just gotten excited over it and torn it out, rather than wait to buy his own copy to drool over. Annoyed, I wish he would've just –asked-. My heart is beating a bit faster than normal. The revelation of the missing page had triggered a mild adrenaline rush. Silly. But I had the remedy.

I reach into my pocket and retrieve my pack of cig's, removing the last one, bringing it to my lips, and lighting up.

My brow furrows a bit as I realize that I'm smoking the lucky cigarette. Then I shrug.

I could handle a little bad luck.

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Glad you guys liked my Ryu! Yuki was actually really difficult for me to write, so it might be a while before I do a chapter from his POV again.

**Tune in Next Time For:** Shuichi's POV! Shu and Hiro play detective and try to decipher what those mystery notes could mean, while dealing with a newly signed rival band and it's stuck up lead singer.


	5. Mischievous Michiko

**-Levity-**

Author's Notes: Thanks a lot to those who are following my story! Please continue to R&R!

As a reminder, this story is set a little while after Yuki and Shuichi return from visiting Kitazawa's grave in New York at the end of Book 12. Those of you following the Genzo tracks, please disregard them for the sake of my story, or consider this AU.

If a word appears like -this-, that indicates italics.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

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**Chapter Five**

- **Mischievous Michiko** -

It was yesterday morning that Hiroshi pulled me aside, and slipped the folded fax into my hand.

"Passing notes, Hiro?" I ask teasingly. "Aren't we a little old for-"

Eiri's name at the bottom catches my eye first. Then I see who's signed the critique. Then I feel kind of sick.

I ask Hiro where he got it. He tells me it was faxed from a private number the previous night. It had worried him as well. Hiro didn't know the darker details surrounding Yuki Kitazawa, but he knew that I'd gone to visit his grave with Eiri. He knew that Kitazawa had once been important to Eiri.

I reread the story at least a dozen times, as I try to wrap my mind around the situation.

It was a pretty story, in my opinion. It seemed a little sad. A rainbow without colors…a dying mother. Stupid Kitazawa Sensei didn't know what he was talking about. I didn't think my Eiri overused adjectives at all.

Eiri!

It was about then that I panic. Cell phone retrieved, I dial the house, as well as Eiri's cell, desperate to reach him. Had he gotten a fax too? Was this some kind of unspoken threat from Kitazawa's ghost? Hadn't that bastard been satisfied when we'd paid respect to his grave? Why couldn't he just leave us alone!

"He's not answering!" I wail in agony, just as K bursts into the lounge to retrieve the pair of us, and haul us to the studio. We have to record 'Weightless'. Only after an intense shouting match with Suguru, followed by a threat from our manager, and a gentle urge from Hiro do I find the strength to bring myself to sing.

I sound terrible.

I'm so nervous. What if Yuki's in danger? What if whoever sent me that fax was sitting over Eiri right now, watching him sleep, or sniffing his clothes, or pulling strands of his hair out of his comb, or something equally creepy?

I search for something, anything, to anchor me down. I try to think of my Yuki and how much he loves me, as I toy with the ring on my finger with my thumb, turning it round and round until the skin beneath it feels a little raw. That doesn't work though, because Yuki might be in trouble, and I'm not there to protect him!

Oddly enough my mind offers Ryuichi Sakuma as a source of comfort. He has always taught me that regardless of any peril, mental, physical, or otherwise, when it's time to sing, it's time to -sing-.

Everything falls away, and there's nothing but the music. The fear and the nerves coalesce into something feather soft, but powerful, and I find my voice.

"-Finally-." Suguru grumbles over the speaker, as he plays with the knobs and dials on the soundboard on the other side of the glass wall. "We'll overlay the second verse, and then I think we've got it."

I make it through the rest of the morning okay. But when we're dismissed for lunch, the terror hits like an aftershock.

"I can't take it Hiro…I have to go back to the apartment and make sure he's okay."

Worriedly, the guitarist nods, and claims he'll cover for me. I yank on my jacket and I'm gone.

Unfortunately, I forget to bring my bag, which means I forget to bring my money, and am forced to power jog, rather than utilize any means of public transportation. Exhausting, but it hardly matters. I have to see Yuki.

I arrive just in the knick of time too. I know intuitively that the envelope shoved beneath the door, is akin to the fax. Whoever was doing this had breached the sanctity of our -home-.

And I decide in the second it takes to retrieve it from beneath the doorway that I would not, -could- not tell Yuki anything about it.

So you can imagine my surprise, when he jerks the door open.

I think I smooth it over well enough. I spend my lunch break with him. Well technically my lunch break 'and then some'. I was considering calling in, and telling them that I wouldn't make it back that afternoon, but it seems K's manager-telepathy picked up on that thought, and he calls my cell first.

The rest of the afternoon at NGR is incident free. I have no indication that Yuki has received any odd notes, and I'm feeling okay about it.

We discuss promotion tactics, and work on the special track for the Danver's film, and by the time I return home that night, I convince myself that the fax was just an isolated incident, and that I'd overreacted about the envelope under the door, and it was probably just a note from a neighbor asking us to keep it down at night, or something like that.

Yuki isn't home yet, because he's at some television station doing an interview. That means calling his cell phone is useless, but I call it anyway, and it goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message.

For dinner I eat the leftover Italian food we'd had for lunch, but I didn't leave it in the microwave long enough and the occasional bite is too cold. Ick. The comforter from the bedroom is dragged out into the living room, and I curl it around me as I sit and watch television, waiting for Yuki's return.

His interview won't air until tomorrow night. Apparently the interviewer was the same old guy that had spoken with boring Uruha Kato Sensei, earlier that week, and it was a pretty big deal for authors to get a spot on his show, although I could hardly see why.

At about midnight, Yuki returns looking a little weary. I greet him in my usual manner with a hug, and a profession of my deep and undying love. He shoots me a glare, and asks if I've put sheets on the bed yet. We do that together, and then he pretty much collapses, despite my questions on how the interview went as I curl up beside him in the bed. He's probably just tired of questions, though, so I understand.

"By the way, brat." He mutters, his voice slightly muffled by the pillows. "Did you rip that dedication out of the book?"

"Hm?" I ask, frowning.

"The Special Edition of **Shattered**." He repeats, sounding aggravated. "The title page is torn out. Did you do that?"

Someone tore my dedication out of the book! I sit up in bed, my mind racing, as I try to figure out who would have done that, and why. Then I realize this phenomenon might be connected to the mystery letters. Alerting Yuki of any strange activities was -not- an option.

"Um…yeah. Yeah, I did."

"You should ask before you tear up other people's stuff." My lover mutters angrily, and moments later, he's asleep.

I gaze down at him, resolvedly. "Yuki…I won't let anyone hurt us. Not again."

This morning, I get up early and headed out before Yuki wakes up. The white envelope is tucked securely in my backpack. I called Hiro and ask him to swing by and pick me up, so that the two of us can talk before the work day officially starts. We reach NGR on his motorcycle at around eight thirty, and after procuring 'breakfast' from a vending machine, we head up to Bad Luck's lounge, and lock the door behind us.

I told him about the second note, and about the missing title page. I told him how I hated lying to Yuki, but didn't have any choice. I told him that I absolutely HAD to figure out who was doing this, and make them stop, before the situation escalated any further, or worse, before Yuki discovered something was wrong.

And that's when Hiro seemed to get angry. His tone started off low and calm, but rose as he spoke, his exasperation growing.

"Shuichi, why do you always do things like this; make trouble for yourself? You have no idea who's doing this, but whoever it is could be a real psycho, and you wanna take them on by alone? Even -you- have to realize how dangerous that is. Why won't you just go to the police? Why won't you use your common sense for once and-"

"I can't risk anything bad happening right now!" I snap so suddenly that I startle myself. The familiar well of tears picks up, and I'm suddenly sobbing while trying to get the words out.

"You know what the last two years of my life have been like, Hiro! It's always one tragedy after another! Someone's always running away, or in and out of the hospital, or getting kidnapped. Normal people's lives aren't like that! And okay, maybe Yuki and I aren't exactly 'normal people', but I honestly don't think other -famous people's- lives are like that either!" I have to pause for a moment to breath, and swipe at the tears, trying to stem the flow.

I inhale deeply, hoping that I can find the right words to make my friend understand. "Don't mistake me…this has nothing to do with jealousy. But for a while I've felt like I was…in competition with the memory of Kitazawa, you know? I mean…Yuki cared for him so deeply." For the first time, I felt odd about confiding in Hiro. As if he may not understand. This was something I should be telling Eiri. But I couldn't, so I pressed ahead.

"When we went to New York to visit his grave, it felt like it was finally over. Eiri could let Kitazawa go, and he and I could move forward, and there would just be the two of us. But now…-this-. And it's like we're moving backwards, instead of forward. It's like we're trapped."

I observe Hiro carefully as his demeanor softens and he heaves a wary sigh. "Shu," He says slowly in a manner that lets me know he's being very selective about how to phrase the following sentence. "Maybe you and I just aren't -equipped- to deal with this. We don't have to go to the police. We could just tell K."

"No!" I snap immediately. "Telling K would be _worse_ than going to the police!" Images of the blonde American barking orders into a walkie talkie to a ninja assault team while hanging from a helicopter as it circled NGR run through my mind, and I shake my head ferociously.

"No, no, no! -We- have to handle this!" I demand. Then I feel a pang of quilt, and quietly add that, "I mean -I- have to handle this. I'd…I'd understand if you didn't want to get involved."

All this gracious appeal earns me is a swift thwap on the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For you being an idiot." Hiro responds calmly, and slides the latest in this saga of mystery letters over to him, and eases it open. "Maybe we should be wearing gloves or something to touch this stuff." He mutters, but doesn't stop removing the slip of paper and setting it atop the envelope.

Naturally it's the second part of the Un-Rainbow story. Judging by the slightly yellow appearance of the note book paper, it's the original, and not a copy, like the fax had been. I'd read it that morning, while Eiri had still been asleep. There were fewer grammar mistakes marked in red, and bigger, more flowery, words, perhaps courtesy of that Thesaurus they'd purchased.

"Excellent Eiri! Your style is developing nicely. I await the next installment with baited breath. – Yuki Kitazawa." Hiro reads aloud.

"I await the next installment with baited breath." I repeat, rolling my eyes. "Who -talks- like that? Pft!"

Hiro merely glances at me, before peering over the document again. I wonder what he's looking for. I mean, sure it was my idea to play detective, but I hardly had a clue as to what detectives well…did.

"Okay, what do we know?" He asks, apparently rhetorically, because he answers before I get the chance to respond. "These are dated eight years prior to now, and they're a story Yuki-san wrote that was proof read by his tutor, Kitazawa Sensei. We received the first one by fax, yesterday from an anonymous number at about eight thirty P.M., and the second one arrived under your door between the hours of nine A.M. and twelve thirty A.M., otherwise you'd have seen it before you left for work."

I nod, and marvel at how official and cool he sounds, even though all he's really doing is repeating stuff we've already said.

"I wonder why one was sent by fax, and the other delivered personally?"

"Maybe someone wanted to keep the original?" I suggest.

"Yeah, but why that one and not this one, though?"

I shrug. Hiro looks pensive.

"And then there's the title page thing. You said you and Yuki were the only one's who'd been in or out of the house since you guys got the book. Were either you or Yuki at home the whole time?"

"Ummmm…nope. There were a few hours here and there when both of us were out. You think someone could've snuck in?"

"They might not have had to. Does anyone else have a key to your place?"

"Yup! Tohma-san, and Tatsuah."

"You think it might be possible that either of them lost the key, or maybe left it laying around?"

"I doubt Tohma-san would lose -anything-. Tatsuah might've though."

Hiro nods, then glances at his wristwatch, and slips the paper back into the envelope. "Well make sure everyone who's supposed to have a key has a key, and you also might want to see if you can get a look at your apartment complex's security tapes."

I blink up at him as he rises from the chair. "Uh…why?"

"Because they might just show you who entered the building between the hours of nine and twelve yesterday carrying a white manila envelope. Dummy."

Agh! I should've thought of that! I beam at my best friend, and launch myself out of my seat to hug him tightly. He chuckles, and returns it. "You're so smart Hiro, I never would've thought of any of that stuff!"

"Of course you wouldn't have." He chides. "Now Suguru-san said he wanted us to meet him in the sound booth at nine, so we better hurry before he has a fit."

I nod, feeling a lot better about the whole situation in general. With Hiro's ideas, I had an actual chance of catching the bad guy all by myself! It was kind of exciting…but I couldn't think like that. I had to be serious, and mature, if I was gonna protect my darling Yuki from the forces of evil!

"I'll be right there okay? Gonna go to the bathroom first." I slip the envelope into my back pack, and Hiro and I part ways in the hall, and I head for the nearest bathroom, which is around the corner. I'm just pushing on the swinging door, when someone else comes barreling through from the other side, knocking me onto my butt.

"Hey!" I snap, wincing at the pain, and glowering up at the perpetrator.

To my utter and complete shock I find a young girl looking down at me. She's startlingly pretty as if her painted up features had been molded to perfection by a master sculptor. Like Nittle Grasper's co-keyboardist, Noriko, the girl's hair was purple, but a deeper, darker, shade, and hung loose in a low, retro bob. Her face was heart shaped, and almost childlike, but her dark eyes were sharp, and cold, perhaps because we'd bumped into each other. Her frame, adorned in an all black gothic version of a traditional school girl outfit, was absolutely tiny, as if the smallest nudge could topple her over, however there was a power in her stance that was threatening. Still, if I were standing, I was sure I'd be at least three feet taller than her. I figure that a height advantage would probably help boost my plummeting dignity and I rise to my feet.

"Watch where you're going, please." I say conveying my annoyance, and try to walk around her. But she doesn't move. Only then do I realize that this young girl had just emerged from the Men's rest room. "What were you doing in there anyway, kid?"

Her eyes narrow at the word 'kid', and finally she parts her lips to speak.

"Mind your own business, dork!" She snaps, nastily, but still refuses to step out of the way.

"Excuse me." I say, trying to maintain some kind of cordiality. Nothing from her but the arching of a pierced eyebrow. "You're that Shindou-loser huh? The singer from Bad Luck?"

"I have to go to the bathroom." I say, ignoring the anger her comment sparked inside of me. She was annoying, but nothing I hadn't dealt with before.

"Well then go ahead, I'm not stopping ya." She replies, finally stepping aside. I enter the restroom, only to hear the tell-tale signs of her following me in. I turn and stare at her.

"You know we have a 'no stalkers' rule on the premises here." I snap pointedly, and opt to use one of the American style stalls, for privacy.

"Is it true that when you first started out, Tohma-san didn't even want to sign you because you were so bad? That's what I heard."

You know what? Stall or not, it's difficult to pee when someone's talking to you. Especially someone this annoying.

"Do you –mind-?" I ask loudly. To my chagrin it sounds as if she's leaning right against the stall door. Yep, those are the back of her dock martin's.

"My band 'Michiko' just got signed on Monday by word of mouth. Just like that! Didn't even have to submit a demo. We're just that good."

"Great. Any chance of you leaving any time soon?"

"That's my name by the way. Michiko Subaru. We're an all girl band, kind of like how Bad Luck is an all guy band. But there's four of us, because we all play actual instruments and not that synth pop crap."

"Feel free to fall off the planet at any time now." I grumble at her.

"Is it true that you and Yuki Eiri are -married-? That's not even legal is it? Did you have to go to some weird country or-"

She's interrupted when I shove the stall door open, causing her stagger forward. She turns around and glares at me angrily. Our expressions match.

"Look, Subaru-san," I say tersely. "I don't have time to play the 'your band is better than my band' game with you, okay? I have real life problems. Now go away and write some sad poetry, or talk to vampires, or whatever it is little visual kei kids like to do."

I watch as her angry expression softens to a grin of genuine amusement. Then she giggles. "Hehheh, you're kind of funny Shindou-san."

"UGH!" I groan, heading for door and adding the name 'Michiko Subaru' to the list of reasons why I prefer men over women.

Now I had to find another damn bathroom.

I storm off down the hall angrily, wondering if I had ever met anyone as pompous and obnoxious and annoying in my life. Then I decide that no, I have not.

Where did she get off anyway? She's signed for two minutes ASSUMING she was telling the truth, and she wants to get all uppity and… -sigh- No time to worry about that.

The emotions associated with the incident fade soon enough however, when I finally make it (about fifteen minutes late) to the sound booth, and focus on the task at hand.

But in the back of my mind my life's current complications kept swirling around. How was I going to get the security people to let me look at the surveillance tapes? I doubt that'd be allowed, even for tenants, and especially not without a good explanation. And what if both Tatsuah and Tohma-san still had their keys? Then how could I figure out who'd stolen my dedication?

"Shuichi-san, pay attention!" Suguru snapped angrily, bringing me out of my reverie to give him a mock salute.

There was so much that could go wrong, but…I couldn't let worry or fear overcome me, and I couldn't relent. I would carry out the 'mission' Hiro had suggested.

I would protect the happiness Eiri and I had found at all costs.

And I would lay the ghost of Kitazawa Yuki to rest.

Once and for all.

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Yay, another chapter done! And a longer one too. Woot.

My typos are starting irk me now, though. Would anyone be interested in beta-reading for me? -chibi eyes- If so, please send me an e-mail.

**Tune in Next Time For**: Suguru's POV. Completely oblivious to the sinister situation unfolding around his band mates, Fujisaki-san ponders his own life, and unknowingly consorts with the enemy.


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